


Invincible

by onewingedbird



Category: The Walking Dead, Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 14:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1902618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onewingedbird/pseuds/onewingedbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope is a dangerous thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invincible

There’s nothing arousing about the scent of dead bodies and the constant danger living in a world post-zombie apocalypse, if you could call it that. Rick still has hope that there’s somebody out there working out a cure and one day, after another ordinary day of farming and killing walkers pushing into the fence, they’ll swoop in and save Judith from growing up to be a fighter. I don’t know what I believe anymore. I want to think that there’ll be something better than this for us but hope is a dangerous thing. It’s better to enjoy the time that we have here, like this. Watching Daddy coax the goodness out of Rick so he can in turn bring a smile out of Carl, hearing Judith babble as she learns to talk, seeing how happy Maggie is with Glenn especially after Woodbury… that can be enough. It should be.

  
But it isn’t. And that makes me feel all kinds of immature and stupid because even though I’m not the only one who wants to have someone worth fighting for, there are more important things to do here, things I could be doing instead of watching Zach make a fool out of himself trying to catch my eye. I could be taking care of Judith or cleaning or even building up some muscle to be useful like Michonne and Maggie are. I’m not doing any of that though. I’m grinning like a right fool as Zach tries to best Daryl in an arm wrestling match he surely can’t win. Daryl looks small but he’s carried men clear across the yard when they’ve been injured without once faltering. It makes a warm feeling grow in me, though, that Zach’s trying anyway. It feels good to have someone want to impress me. It’s exciting even if nothing comes of it. It’s just… nice is all.

  
It makes perfect sense to sneak into the guard tower when he’s on duty and take off my shirt later that night. Because, sure, there’s nothing sexy about the groans or the scent of the walkers that the breeze carries every now and then but there’s something incredibly hot about how he can make me feel like something precious and wanted, like nothing would make him happier than for me to be his, in one look. His hands wander and there’s a fire building under my skin and, yes, it makes perfect sense to let my pants follow my shirt.

 

And suddenly he’s my boyfriend. Sweet and loyal and into me way more than I’m into him but I like it like that. I like the way he fights for every bit of affection from me. He doesn’t take any of it for granted, and he talks to me like I’m an essential part of this group – not as a sister or a daughter or even his girlfriend but all on my own. Like I bring something to the table everyone would be lost without. He says it so much in so many different ways I come to believe it myself, that I’m helping keep morale high which is good enough when everyone just wishes things would be normal again.

  
That he dies doesn’t surprise me. It makes my heart stutter and my stomach clench but it’s expected. We’re all going to die so I won’t cry and I won’t mourn openly, reminding everyone that we aren’t ever going to be safe and things will never be normal. I’ll just restart my count on the incidents and hope that we can make it more than a month next time until it’s a year before we’ve lost anyone to unnatural causes. I’ll be strong and keep the people I can happy and forgetting that hope is more than a little foolish these days. It’s absurd.

  
I look up when I realize Daryl hasn’t left yet. He’s leaning against the door to my room – my cell – and staring at me in a confused silence. I don’t have to justify myself to him but it doesn’t feel like that when I tell him I don’t cry anymore. I don’t know what it is but I do it anyway and when he tells me he’s tired of losing people, I hug him. Mostly because there isn’t anything true I could’ve said to assuage that and lying’s about the most unnecessary thing you could do these days. It’s awkward and he isn’t helping us fit together comfortably at all; I start to think he hasn’t been hugged in quite a while. Eventually, he lifts his arms up and circles them around me. His heartbeat is hard against my ear but his arms are steady. I can feel the tight muscles in them.

  
 _If anyone will outlive us all,_ I think, _it’ll be Daryl Dixon._ I don’t say it. I have a feeling that being left behind would be worse than dying to him. He’s like me like that. And finding a similarity with him apart from caring about this circle of survivors makes me chuckle. I pull back to meet his eyes, not wanting him to think I’m laughing at him – he’s so proud - but there’s a growing light that wasn’t there before and then he’s laughing along with me. It’s quiet and gruff and it fills my belly with… something.

  
I’m closing the space between us before I can stop to second-guess myself. His lips are slightly chapped and I’m sure mine are too. He tastes like salt and earth but it’s good. I hadn’t realized how large his hands are until they settle on my waist. My own curl into his shirt. He pulls away with his arms holding me away. It’s not the best kiss I’ve had, the headiest with loads anticipation and yearning rolled into it. It’s on the chaste side but I’m panting and clenching my legs anyhow. My fingers open and trail down his chest taking note of every ripple of taut muscle beneath the cloth. He shudders and says my name. Just my name. There’s warning and need and shame in it. I want to say sorry but I’m not and we don’t lie here.

  
Then, “You’re hurtin’ so I’m gonna let that slide. Don’t you do it again.” And he’s gone.

  
I stop myself from following him. His shoulders are tense and there’s a slight shake of his head when he pauses at the door out of the cellblock. I sit down on the edge of my bed. My lips are tingling from the absence of touch. I want more. It doesn’t matter that he’s right and I want to ease the loss of someone else by focusing on this; that’s a part of it, of course it is. But it’s not the whole. When he held me back, I felt safe. It was an illusion but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to feel it again.

  
The next morning, I plan on somewhat clearing the air, making sure that things won’t be awkward with each other. I want to kiss him but I know that I need time to mourn Zach even if that’s done without weeping. I need time to let go of my love for him before I try to explore anything new. Not that I love Daryl or even want to, I don’t know what I’m thinking. I laugh to myself. I just want his hands around me again and that feeling of overwhelming safety to wash over me again.

  
There may not be time for it later. He might be gone or I’ll be but it’s still important to take the time to heal. Because Zach did matter and there’s no one left to show that but me. And I doubt that Daryl, hard-headed, stubborn Daryl with all that gentleness hidden beneath his gruffness would appreciate me approaching him while he still thinks I’m only doing it to stop the ache in my chest from spreading. So, I don’t seek him out. I wait and before long, there’s an epidemic forcing me into isolation with Judith.

  
There’s too much else to worry after that. I think about him but not romantically, no, if you could ever call my thoughts about him that. I think about how I lost half the people I still had left in one night and the other half might be infected, how if they are it’s only a matter of time before I lose them too. I could be infected. It would be alright if I knew Maggie and Daddy, Glenn and Michonne and Carl and Rick and Daryl would be okay. I hate that I’m a person with a hierarchy of who I want to live and who it’s alright could die but what is is. With only Judith to focus on, though, there’s nothing to stop me from imagining the worst that could happen: losing everyone at once. I stop that because I can’t do my job if I don’t. I tell myself that we haven’t been brought this far to die like this. I lie.

  
Days later and countless of our friends dead, some are able to begin the recovery process. The medicine’s administered and I only remain in quarantine with Judith as a precaution, to make certain that the virus isn’t still contagious. We can’t take any chances with her. I took to motherin’ her when no one else did and I can’t imagine the way I’d splinter if anything happened to her. I want to be able to hug and hold Maggie and Daddy now that we know Glenn will be alright but I don’t mind waiting to make sure Judith will be safe. I am giddy with relief and my heart has settled back into a steady rhythm.

  
It’s easier to put Zach to rest in those days alone than I want it to be. I wish I could be the person I was. This world, it’s hardened all of us and I don’t know what to do with that. It’s the only way to survive but it makes me feel cold-hearted like going on so easily is cheapening his life and what he meant to all of us. He looked at me like a cure and only days after he’s gone, I am at peace with it. Nothing could be worse than losing Mama, a voice reasons in me but it isn’t enough. I had decided months ago not to cry anymore, to be the strong one but now I wish I could shed a tear if only out of respect. The guilt gnaws at me so that when I finally do emerge from isolation, I can think of nothing else but the version of myself that has died.

  
It would’ve been too good for things to go back to normal after that, if there had been the necessary period of mourning which is more of a perfunctory pause now because there isn’t any time to wait for anything these days; everything is too fragile. It would’ve been nice, though, to have a week or so more before the next catastrophe, another thirty days without an incident. But those days are from before. My heart has dropped to squeeze around my lungs and I am barely breathing as I watch the Governor like Freddy Krueger clicking the ends of his metallic glove together rising from my nightmares to threaten my father, to threaten the safety of this prison, of everyone left. If I had had a moment think then, I might have thought he’d somehow brought the virus here to weaken us first because it is all too horribly timed not to be planned.

  
I don’t have time to think though. My brain is a field of trampled lilies. I am waiting for the next move, listening to Rick plead with this monster. The words wash over me but don’t take root. My only focus is Maggie beside me, the only other person who can understand the clawing nature of my fear, how suspended the torture is, and Daddy. I can’t make out his features from this distance but I know he wouldn’t show fear now. He’d be brave because he wouldn’t want Rick to be afraid, or me and Maggie. And even without that, he has such a great faith in people’s essential goodness that he wouldn’t believe what happens next could happen.

  
And then I am screaming and pressing the trigger of my rifle barely aiming. I see both people and walkers fall and I’m not sure if I have now joined the ranks of the rest of the survivors here, the people who’ve had to fight for it, murder to be able to see the next day. My heart loosens with such a speed that the sound of the blood rushing in my veins is deafening. And Maggie is telling me that I have a job to do and I do. I do. I don’t have time to stop and think, to mourn. That’s not how this works. Where is Judith? And the other children? I have to find them but I can’t help the moment I take to watch Maggie race away from me because there is chaos all around me and I don’t know if a bullet will catch her or the building will cave in on her while she’s in there. I take a moment. And I am looking for the kids and getting as many people on the bus as possible and everywhere, someone is dying around me. If I stop again, I’ll scream. I can’t find Judith or Maggie. I come back to the yard and the bus is gone and I hope that Maggie and Glenn were on it; I see only Daryl in front of me telling me we have to go and there’s no hesitation because there is nothing else to be done and the stench of death, blood and dust in the air is suffocating. This life is still crumbling behind us but Daryl is sturdy and safe and his footsteps are sure in front of me so I follow.

  
In what feels like hours later, we are approaching someplace safe enough to catch our breath. The sun has set and every step we take in the night echoes, calling out to walkers and whatever other dangers are lurking in its shadows though we’re treading as softly as we can. My lips are still but my mind is racing through what I can remember from today. It felt as if my eyes only focused enough to see one horrific thing after another until there was only the back of Daryl’s back to guide me.

  
He is still walking ahead of me, giving a grunted, “Stay here,” while he goes to secure the cabin we’re coming up on. But I don’t stay. He is the only thing tethering me to this world, the only one stopping me from giving in to the despair that is clawing at the walls of my heart. I can’t fall apart because it’s not entirely impossible for Maggie or any of the others to have made it out of there. If I could – stupid, useless glorified babysitter – then how much more of a chance did they have? It’s possible. Tonight there’s not a scrap of energy between us; adrenaline has taken us this far and it’ll help us secure the cabin before we let exhaustion take over. But maybe tomorrow, we can start looking for other survivors. To do that, I need all of the sanity that hasn’t seeped through my fractured mind and for that, I need Daryl, someone to keep it together for. I grab his arm to stop him.

  
His gaze drops to my hand before fixing me with a hard stare. “What? You found someplace better, sweetheart?”

  
I ignore that. “I’m going with you.” At his blank stare, I continue. “You don’t know what’s in there and you’ll need someone to watch your back.” My chin is raised and my grip on his arm firming.

  
He huffs a laugh without much humor but doesn’t argue when he starts to move forwards and I am still following. That feeling from another lifetime is coming over me again: false security. I don’t let go of his arm but my touch is gentler.

  
There are only two walkers in the cabin. Their bodies are mutilated, limbs missing. It’s disgusting, the stench, but I can’t stop the pang of sorrow in my chest. It’s easy for the others to become hardened to the idea that these were real people before: fathers, mothers, sisters. It’s never been that way for me. I lay their bodies on the bed and cover them with sheets when it’s over. Daryl is already in another room. I can hear him opening and shutting cabinets and doors, looking for supplies.

  
When I go to him, he’s in the kitchen seated on a counter with half a bottle of water in hand. He holds it out to me. I lean against the counter, closer to him than I need to be, my stomach resting on his knee as I face him and take a sip. The contact is soothing and I’m aware enough of how easily I could splinter to take all the comfort I can. I hold the water in my mouth, let it soothe my chapped lips before I swallow.

  
“We should go back, look for the others,” I say. There’s a mixture of pity and exasperation in his eyes before he looks away. It makes my own water before I blink them away. _We’ve all got jobs to do_ , I tell myself. My voice belies none of the fear and hopelessness I have lurking somewhere deep inside me. I refuse to give into it. “Why is it so easy for you to give up on them? If we could make it out, anyone might have. Hell, there was a bus full of people-- ”

  
“Easy,” he scoffs. He’s still looking away from me.

  
“I think you’re scared. I think it’s simpler to focus on the now and what we’ve got to do to stay alive instead of thinking of Carl or Rick or Judith out there needing our help.” I take a steadying breath. He’s silent while I swallow my sob. He doesn’t look at me until my breath is quiet again. I meet his eyes. “If you hadn’t come across me looking for Judith, I could be out there on my own. Or you could. We’d want someone to come looking for us, Darryl. When can we go?”

  
He takes my elbow in hand tightly and his eyes close for a moment. “And what are you gonna do if all we find are dead bodies?” His hand slides down to the slightly puckered skin on my wrist. “Ain’t it better to think you might see ‘em someday than go back and know you won’t?” His thumb circles the scar. He sighs. “Finding Merle… I’da given anything to think he just left, saved his own hide than to find him there eatin’ some poor sucker. Tryna eat me. You don’t know what that’s like.”

  
I move my hand forward to hold his. “I don’t.” I can’t tell him that I’m sorry, not now. “But there’s as good a chance as any that Maggie or Glenn, somebody, is out there thinking that you and I are dead. And I’d rather know for sure. I’d rather… set ‘em free if I have to.”

  
“You sure ‘bout that?”

  
“No, I’m not. But I want to try and I don’t want to do it alone. Please.”

  
We leave two days later after looking through the cabin more thoroughly for anything we can take with us – weapons and food and any first aid tools – and resting. Darryl is sitting on the porch steps with his crossbow on his lap peering out into the surrounding woods. We have so far to go back to the prison to look for tracks, tracks that could have already been covered by walkers or maybe aren’t our own people’s to begin with. There is doubt creeping into my spine. I am so worried that what we find will be much worse than believing them lost to us but I didn’t lie to him. I have to know. I sit beside him and breathe out that fear, the urge to stay because even though most everyone is surely gone or too far away to find, I’m sure that someone I love survived, even if it’s just the one.

  
What were the odds that Darryl would find me like he did? I turn my head to him, and I am suddenly aware of the magnitude of that and filled with gratitude. I lean over and touch my lips softly to his cheek. He starts but doesn’t move away. My lips turn up because I have never seen his face so open. I do it again, resting my face into his shoulder after.

  
It isn’t that I’m just not alone, no. It’s more. It’s that I have to be the brave one with him and that he lets me. He is steady and sure and safe and his heart is as broken as mine but we keep each other going. I couldn’t explain it to anyone or even myself just yet but when he leans his chin down and kisses my forehead, I know that it’ll be okay no matter what we find or what we don’t. It is okay to hope sometimes, his arm around my shoulders tells me. I breathe him in and, nestled into his side, I feel so strongly that we are invincible that there is no more fear in this moment or the ones that follow.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah! Hope you all enjoyed this. I just wanted to show the very slow build and how things can fall into place in the quiet moments.


End file.
